


Dribbles

by Decaykid



Category: Life Is Strange
Genre: Desperation, Multi, Omorashi, Public Pee, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 00:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11452071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decaykid/pseuds/Decaykid
Summary: A collection of Nathan Prescott omo/ws drabbles.Chapters are titled by pairing for ease of access.Feel free to leave suggestions!!





	1. Grahamscott

Nathan squirms at his desk in physics; he's trying his best to pay attention but it's hard to focus on fulcrums, pulleys, and levers when the Gatorade he had before class is begging to come out.

"Can I have the bathroom pass?" Nathan blurts out and interrupting the lecture.

Ms. Grant releases a small sigh before turning her attention away from the board.

"Mr. Prescott, you sure have a bad habit of finding excuses to leave my class, and it shows on your test scores."

"But I-"

"Surely you can hold it."

He huffs as she continues talking.

Okay, sure, so maybe he does have a habit of taking the pass so he can walk around the halls, go bother Victoria in her class, or even smoke in the gym locker rooms, but class is boring and he hardly ever knows what's going on. It's not like he misses much though. Last week they were rolling hot wheels down makeshift ramps; how complicated is that?

He glances at the clock. Forty-five minutes until class is over. Maybe he can hold it until then. He just needs to distract himself. He bounces his leg up and down and taps his pen on his desk while trying to read along in his book. It works well enough, until he can feel his belt pressing into his bladder.

With an uncomfortable groan, he moves until he's sitting straight up in his seat; though the pressure is taken off his belt moving into a proper sitting position strengths his urge to pee. He presses his thighs together, crosses his ankles and tries to find where Ms. Grant is in the book while slowly rocking back and forth in his chair.

"Dude, what's you're problem?" Warren asks in a whisper from the row beside him.

Nathan throws him a sharp look.

"I didn't realize there was a gray area in 'I need the bathroom pass'; I have to piss!"

Warren watches as Nathan moves his legs from being outstretched to tucking his feet under his seat. He continues to rock and a hand digs into the top part of his thigh.

"Thinking about it makes it worse."

"You know, sometimes I think you /like/ being punched in the face."

It's a weak come back, especially for Nathan, but it gets the point across.

Warren returns his attention to the lecture.

And then his attention is drawn back to Nathan a few seconds later.

It's hard not to look, to take in the sight of Blackwell's brat prince grunting as he jams his hands between his thighs in a weak attempt to keep from peeing himself. It's a reminder that he's human like the rest of them, and that karma is alive and well.

... or maybe not.

"W-What are you doing?" Warren asks in a bewildered whisper as he watches Nathan undo his belt buckle.

"Calm down, you voyeuristic perv, just easing the pressure."

He can also slide his hand into his pants so he can hold himself as he presses his thighs together as another urge hits him. Once he's able to relax again, he strokes himself a few times, feeling oddly aroused by the whole experience. Luckily for him, Warren thinks he's still just holding himself.

"You're not gonna make it dude."

"Who asked y- fu-"

Nathan suddenly doubles over in his desk as a strong contraction hits. His body shakes and he starts to break out into a cold sweat. As it passes he pants and the taught line of his shoulders relax.

As much as he hates to admit it, Warren is right. There's still thirty minutes left of class and with everyone working in class work, he can no longer distract himself with the lecture.

This isn't all Ms. Grants' fault. She thought she could strong arm him, make him obey her rules. But Nathan Prescott doesn't /obey/. Nathan Prescott /makes/ the rules.

He has one of two ways of handling this. He could let loose, right here right now, and soak his pants and the chair. She may reprimand him, but she'd get ultimately get into trouble. Forcing a student to stay in class until they pee themself is bad enough, but when that student is the son of the man who owns the school?

The thing is, that method is too passive aggressive for his taste. He prefers a more head-on approach when facing a problem.

"What are you doing?" Warren asks for the second time as he watches Nathan undo the button his his jeans and pull the zipper down.

"Done waiting." Nathan answers simply.

Warren sighs, hastily turns to his backpack.

"Hold on, I think I got a bottle- Nathan!"

Warren assumed Nathan was just going to pee on the floor at his desk, he has no idea why he's standing up.

Nathan walks to the front wall of the classroom, pulls his dick out through the slit in his underwear, and finally gives in to the urge he's been fighting all class period.

It takes a moment before anyone realizes what's going on; a few of the jocks chuckle, a girl in the back screams and then the whole class evacuates. Indifferent to the chaos, Nathan simply watches the puddle spread across the floor, occasionally stroking himself as the pleasure fades with his emptying bladder.

David Madsen approaches the students in the hall, then leans against the doorframe as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Really, Prescott?" His tone is a mix of disgust and disbelief.

"She wouldn't let me leave." Nathan replies matter-of-factly, watching as his piss goes from a stream, to a dribble, to droplets. Once emptied he shakes off, tucks himself back into his underwear, then refastens his pants and belt.

He steps out of the puddle, the bottom of his shoes are wet and he leaves footprints as he makes his way to Blackwell's Security Officer.

"Guessing you're not holding my hand all the way to the office?" Nathan asks with all the smartassery he can muster.

"Get over here." David growls as he grabs Nathan's shoulder and drags him out into the hall.

Warren watches as David leads Nathan away, feeling somewhat bemused by the whole situation; he has no idea why the class panicked. After all, it's only pee.


	2. Chasescott

The Otters are on their way home from a meet. From her seat at the back of the bus, Victoria admires her shiny second place medal adorned from her neck, the ribbon feels silky smooth and the silver is a comfortable weight against her chest. Beside her, Nathan is less enthused.

She tears her attention from her prize to watch as he wiggles and squirms with his thighs pressed together. She smiles as she rolls her eyes.

"I told you you should've used the bathroom when we stopped."

"S-Shut up." He stammers, then makes a soft whining noise.

While the rest of the swim team had made a rush to the toilets at the gas station, Nathan thought he'd be clever and beat the line by purchasing snacks instead. Of course, at the time he didn't have to go, and maybe he still wouldn't have if he hadn't bought that slushy either.

The bus hits a bump and he whines again as he crosses his legs. Why'd he have to get a large?

"Why don't you pee in a cup?"

"You mean that cup?" Nathan nods towards his gym bag placed between them at the styrofoam that's been poked through with a straw into obliteration.

"You really didn't think this through, did you?" She asks with a teasing smiling. He throws her a look, but it's hard for her to take him serious while he's squirming in the seat with his hands jammed down his crotch.

"Want me to get you the trash can?"

"N-No I can hold it."

She shrugs, goes back to looking at her medal and listens to Nathan's soft noises and pants.

He does fine, until they come to an intersection with an exceptionally long red light. Unable to preoccupy himself with the moving scenery outside the window, his control lapses and he starts to leak. He immediately grabs his dick through his trunks and cusses. Victoria looks over, watches the little rivelets run down the inside of his swimwear and gather in a small puddle on the seat between his thighs.

"F-Fuck I'm not... I'm... can't wait...."

He uses both hands to squeeze tightly around his dick as a contraction hits. Once it's over he releases his breath and tenderly rubs himself.

"You know, since you're obviously about to burst, you can just fold up your towel, sit on it and pee."

"What?" Nathan asks as he squirms and presses his trembling thighs together.

"No one's gonna know any different. People sit on their towels on the way back so the seats don't get wet, who's to say if it's pool water or pee? Besides, they all get tossed together and washed when get back anyways."

"What if... what if it leaks out?"

"You can put my towel with yours if you're really worried about over saturating it."

"I don't k-know..."

Another splurt, more warm liquid running down the inside of his thighs.

"Fi-iiine." He whispers out.

Victoria takes her already folded towel from her athletic bag, then rummages through Nathan's bag for his towel. She folds it with practiced precision, and places it on top of hers.

" 'Kay, try to get up with out leaking too much."

He presses his knees into the back of the seat in front of him and drives his shoulders into the back of his own seat then lifts his hips until he's no longer sitting, but doing a sort of vertical plank between the seats. Victoria lays the towels down and straightens them out, then pats them down.

"Ready whenever you are."

"Been 'ready' for twenty minutes now."

He allows himself to fall back into the seat; the force jostles his bladder to the point of no return.

Nathan removes his hands from his thighs and he gasps at the sudden force and warmth of release. It takes a moment for his body to relax and he groans as he fully gives in to the pleasure of relief.

Victoria smiles as she rests her head on his shoulder.

"Don't you feel better now?" She asks as she watches the liquid bead and stream out from his trunks, only to join the quickly growing dark spot on the fabric behind him, accompanied by the muffled hissing sound of his pee gushing out and his erratic breathing.

Eventually Nathan's hands become unclenched on his knees and he sighs deeply as his stream wanes.

"Make sure you get it all out, we still have an hour's drive."

Nathan rocks a little on the warm, wet towels and causes them to make squishy sounds.

It's going to be a long hour.


	3. Caulscott

It's beautiful outside, the sun is out, birds are chirping, a warm breeze gentley rustles the green needles of the pine trees, and there's a soft and rapid 'pat' as the heel of Nathan's shoe hits the soft ground while bouncing his leg. Sitting beside him on the bench, Max pays no attention to the vibration that moves through the wood of Nathan's idle movement, or to the protests of a rusty screw that squeaks with each bounce.

With Victoria attending a conference with Sean, Chloe picking up shifts at Two Whales and Max having the week off between projects, it's the first time her and Nathan have hung out with just the two of them in a while, and Max wants to make the best of it.

Beiside her, the sqeauking stops and the wood groans as Nathan stands from the bench and stretches.

"Ready to go?" She asks as she grabs her satchel.

"Yeah, I just gotta piss first."

Max looks at him with a slight cock of her head.

"Can't you wait?"

Done stretching, Nathan lets his arms fall back to his side as he mulls it over in his mind. Deciding she's just being her eco-friendly, hipster self Nathan nods and they make their way back to his truck. The ride isn't too bad for Nathan, there's a couple of potholes they hit that make him wince. Regardless, he's happy when they make it home. Eager to relieve himself, he starts fidgeting with his belt the moment they walk through the front door.

"What are you doing?" Max asks as she walks to Nathan and places her hands on his hips, "I thought you said you could wait?"

"I... Oh. /Ohhh./" A pause. "You want me to hold for you?"

A light blush turns the skin beneath her freckles pink.

"U-Um, if you want to."

Nathan bites back a smile and Max's blush reddens. She breaks away from him, and as she removes her satchel and throws it on to the couch, she asks "So where are you at right now?"

"Mmmm, about a five, maybe?" He responds as he refastens his belt, and, okay, so maybe he rounded down, but he's willing to push himself for Max.

"So we can play a few games?"

"Only if it's Halo."

Max playfully rolls her eyes as she moves to set the console up.

"Um, I'm gonna change real quick."

"Okay." Max says.

Nathan ditches the belt and jeans for a pair of loose fitting sweat pants, then joins Max in the living room, who's waiting for him on the couch with a glass of water in hand.

"What's this?" He asks as he sits beside her, taking a controller in one hand and the glass in the other.

"You had a lot of coke at lunch today, it wouldn't kill you to drink some water every now and again."

"Self care is drinking your weight in carbonated beverages and hoping the gross quantities of sugar kills you eventually."

Max snorts. "Whatever, dude. Just drink it."

Pushing all thoughts of the mild annoyance of his bladder aside, Nathan downs the glass in a few easy gulps. Satisfied, Max queues their party into the lobby and the pair cuddle up on the couch together.

They loose their first couple of matches but things quickly turn around. However, about forty-five minutes into their winning streak, Nathan untangles himself from Max to sit with his feet tucked beneath him and his thighs pressed tightly together.

"Everything okay?" Max asks.

"Yeah, just... cramped."

Two matches later, he's changed how he's sitting, with his feet on the floor, ankles crossed and using the controller with one hand while his other hand is shoved between his thighs.

He groans as he's killed again, frustrated with himself and the tension in his throbbing bladder. He can't focus on his tactics when he's too busy thinking about how he has to pee.

"Need to stop?"

"No, no. I'm fine."

He moves to the edge of the couch, removes his hand from his crotch, crosses his legs and slowly rocks.

He can do this, he thinks. He just needs to get himself distracted, really focus on the game. Once he can do that, holding will be a breeze.

Now respawned and with two hands on the controller, he gets back into the game. He's able to kill a few people and balance out his stats, but his kill streak doesn't last long before the first contraction hits and he's doubling over with a gasp as he firmly holds his dick. Just like that, his character is dead again.

After a moment or two, Nathan straightens back out while trying to turn his panting into deep, slow breaths.

"I'm moving to the bathroom," he admits defeatedly, "Vic would kill me if I peed on the couch."

"I'll be there as soon as this match is over, okay?"

He offers no response as he stands with both hands around himself while he does a half dash to the bathroom. Once inside, he slips his shoes off before stepping into the bathtub.

It's so much harder to distract himself in here, with nothing to draw his attention except for the damn toilet sitting mere feet from him, taunting him. He closes his eyes instead, though there's not much for him to focus on save for the ache of his bladder and the building tension of arousal in his lower abdomen. With nothing better to do, he allows himself some self-indulgent touching and strokes himself through his sweatpants. He's already half erect from holding his piss, and he contemplates releasing now before it becomes too hard to, but before he can make up his mind, there's a knock on the door and Max is entering the bathroom with another glass of water.

"We lost." She informs him while handing him the glass.

"And I'm being punished for it?"

She smirks. "If that's how you wanna see it."

He removes one of his hands from his crotch to accept the glass, Max can't help but notice the way his hand shakes.

"Are you sure you wanna keep doing this?"

"Hell yeah." He mumbles into the glass. She watches him take a sip and she shrugs. She personally doesn't understand the allure in torturing yourself, but as long as he's enjoying it then that's all that matters.

As Nathan is taking another sip, the second contraction hits. It catches him off guard and he leaks before he can retighten his muscles.

"We can stop now if you want." Max says, alarmed by his language.

"No, no. It's fine." Nathan says, pulling his hand away to assess the damage. There's not much of a spot, as most of the leak is running down the inside of his leg and only appears on the fabric where it's bunched at his ankle. Deciding it's not that bad, Nathan finishes the water then hands the glass back to Max.

"You're so stubborn." She says in a tone that's nearly affectionate.

"Maybe." He says, unsure how else to respond.

"You sure you wanna keep going?"

He nods.

"Okay. I have a challenge for you then. You ready?"

More nodding.

"You can not hold or touch yourself for the next twenty minutes. If you do, you have to drink another glass of water. Think you can do it?"

"No touching, got it."

"Ready..."

Nathan raises his hands above his head as Max sets her watch.

"... and, go!"

'Easy. Easy. No touching. Easy. I got this.'

He glances at the clock. It's only been ten seconds.

'Shit.'

With his body stretched out, he becomes painfully aware of how swollen his full bladder is. He relaxes his stances and brings his arms down to interlock his fingers behind his head.

Easy.

He's still /so aware/. It feels so heavy and full, like someone carved out his organs and replaced them with lead, and it's settled down on his pelvic bone.

Everything is so /tight/.

He just needs to relieve the tension.

He rocks on his feet from toe to heel and he watches the seconds tick by agonizingly slow. He tries to break it down. Sixty ticks in a minute. There are two thirty tick blocks to make a minute. And four fifteen tick blocks to make a minute. There are three five tick blocks to make fifteen seconds. So he just needs to make it through four of the three five second ticks eighteen more times, with the thirtieth tick being the half way point each time.

'Shit.'

He rocks for seventeen more ticks before changing to a side-to-side rock. It helps with the bladder pressure but the fabric of his pants rubbing against his erection makes it worse.

He lets out a frustrated groan and stops moving.

He can't touch himself. He knows he can ignore his erection for the time being, it's his full bladder that he's concerned about. He can get through this as long as he doesn't have another contraction. And he wouldn't have to worry about a contraction if his bladder wasn't so full.

"No touching, that's the only rule, right?"

"Yep, and you got sixteen minutes to go... no pun intended."

Nathan chews his lip as he mauls his thoughts over. He might be able to make it through a contraction if he relieves a bit of the pressure, the question is, does he have enough control this late into holding to only let off enough as he needs?

He reminds himself that his next contraction might mean end game, and decides to take a chance.

He takes a few breaths to center his attention towards his body, then very slowly and carefully he relaxes the very taught muscles working as a flood gate. Almost instantly there's a short hissing sound before he quickly cuts off the flow, and he's not sure which is more embarrassing: the guttural sound of pleasure he makes as there's a fleeting moment of relief and the feel of warm piss running down his crotch and legs or the stream darkening his pants and enunciating his already obvious hardened cock.

"Giving up?" Max asks with a raised eyebrow and Nathan shakes his head, unable to find words, let alone his breath.

He goes back to rocking toe to heel on his feet and closes his eyes as he enjoys the wet warmth in his sweats and running down the front of his thighs. He can no longer tell where the ache in his bladder ends and the sexual tension begins but they're begging for release. Nathan groans in frustration and when he looks at the clock, he's twenty-three ticks past the seven minute mark. Nathan watches the second hand tick by as the pee in his pants cool, and once he's reached the nine minute mark, he decides to try and relieve more pressure. This time, he lets the stream go a little longer, and uses enough force so that the liquid beads on the outside of the fabric, only to drop down to the porcelain in an unrhythmic splatter. At the end, his body lets out an extra splurt and Nathan catches his hands at his sides.

"That was close." Max comments.

Nathan balls his hands into fists and move them away from his sides a few inches. He looks down to observe his mess, there's two narrow streaks running down the inseam of both pant legs and a small puddle between his feet. There's more warmth, and more wet, and he dribbled on one of his socks and his body is telling him to let a little more out, let a little more out, /just let a little more out/. Before he knows it, his muscles start relaxing and another contraction hits.

"Shit!" Nathan rasps out, doubling over and grabbing himself before he can stop himself.

Max frowns as she watches him quiver and rock on his feet. 

"Eleven minutes and fifty-two seconds." She says once he's started breathing again.

"Bring me the water." He says solemnly.

After that, it doesn't take long for his kidneys to replinsh what he'd lost and then some. Everything feels pulled tight and on the verge of breaking, his bladder, his cock, every muscle in his body. His thighs are trembling, he's gritting his teeth, each breath is stuttered and one thought echoes through his mind: release, release, release.

"Fuuuuck." He groans, grinding into his hands in a feeble attempt to stop the muscle spasms. It's no use, he can feel himself leaking in tiny dribbles. He squeezes his thighs together as tight as he can, but still he leaks.

"Shiiit. Shit." His body tries again to expel the waste. Nathan bends over, grabs himself harder.

"Fuck. /Fuck/. Fuck fuck fuck."

The leaking is starting to form a new streams down his pants and his hands feel wet.

Max can't tear her eyes away from him. It's like watching a car wreck in slow motion. It's fascinating in a morbid sort of way to watch him punish himself, to see him wreck himself to derive pleasure from his own self induced pain.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck." A groan as the leak is punctuated with a splurt.

"Fuuuuuck."

Another splurt and Max watches as he at last pulls his hands away. His entire body stills as he becomes rigid and there's a moment of suspension before the pee gushes out of him with a loud hiss. The front and inside of his sweatpants become soaked almost instantly, glistening in the florescent lighting of the bathroom. Suddenly he groans and movement is restored to his body. His hands cup his crotch in a final yet feeble attempt to hold the flow and his worn, trembling legs finally give out as he sinks down until he's kneeling in his own puddle of piss.

Accepting his defeat, Nathan hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats and pulls it midway down his thighs. He reviles in the sight and feel of his piss pouring down the insides of his thighs, down the front of his soaked boxer briefs, dripping in small streams into his sweats and pooling on the porcelain below him. Before he knows it the stream dwindles down leaving him feeling pleasantly warm but hollow.

"Fuck, that was good." Nathan says in the sudden silence, voice rough from arousal.

Max smiles as she toes off her shoes and unclasps her belt.

She doesn't understand how Nathan could derive pleasure in punishing himself, but seeing him do all that for her, to /please/ her, has her turned on.

She drops her pants, steps out of them, the pulls her shirt over her head.

"Now it's time for the /real/ fun."


	4. Jefferscott

"Dammit Nathan, this is the second time this week!" Mark Jefferson growls out.

Nathan pushes his fists deeper into his pockets as he struggles to keep up with Jefferson's long strides and brisk pace.

Suddenly the teacher stops just before the pair reach his classroom door. Nathan is forced to bring his gaze up from the floor to stop in time as not to collide with Jefferson.

"You know the deal I have with your father. Since he's busy fleshing out the negotiations for his Pan Estates, he hired me to keep an eye on you. And you know he won't be happy if I have to make a phone call explaining that his son has gotten into trouble again."

Though Nathan says nothing, he can feel the heat on his face growing. It's not like he tries to get into trouble. He just looses control sometimes. And he snaps. He doesn't understand why everyone gets upset. They should know how he's going to react by now. Sometimes he thinks his peers do it on purpose. Sometimes he thinks they're all out to get him, and getting him into trouble is their secret revenge.

"You know I don't want to go to your father, Nathan. But I can only pull so many strings around here. Sometimes, you leave me no choice."

Nathan still offers no reply and Jefferson's frown deepens.

"/Now/ you're quiet. Why can't you treat the football team with this much apathy?"

Nathan feels his words like a blow to the chest and he feels himself curling inwards.

"Still nothing? Hmph."

Jefferson crosses his arms carefully over his suit and regaurds Nathan with a careful eye.

"Well, since you're not allowed to return to class for the remainder of the day, and having you hang out in your dorm clearly isn't a sufficient punishment, you'll be helping me for the last two periods."

"I thought students couldn't grade papers because of Confidentiality?"

"Oh, don't you worry Nathan. I have plenty else for you to do."

-//-

Nathan nervously bounces his leg beneath the desk, no matter how he sits he just can't get comfortable in the large, leather desk chair.

This is /definitely/ worse than detention.

There's been a stiff sort of silence ever since he begrudgingly trudged behind Jefferson into the classroom.

This is the hardest part of his outbursts, he thinks. It's the aftermath, when everyone holds his breath around him. It's when he doesn't brush up against elbows in the hall. It's when no matter what direction he looks, all eyes are turned to the floor.

It's the only time the whispers in the hall stop.

It's when everyone treats him like he's fragile, like he has 'Handle With Care' written across his forehead.

That's when the guilt and the shame sets in.

"The editing process sure is a quiet one, hmm?" Jefferson asks as he approaches his desk and Nathan knows his words have intent, but it doesn't stop him dropping his gaze downwards.

He hates that Jefferson can read him so easily.

"Here. Drink this." The teacher says, handing Nathan a bottle of water. "It will... clear your head."

Nathan doesn't know why he's trying to be polite. His students must know Nathan's only here because he's in trouble, and if they don't they certainly will during passing period when the gossip will spread like wildfire down the halls.

"Thanks." He tries, but his voice doesn't come out any louder than a whisper.

Jefferson gives a single half-nod before returning his attention to his class.

He hates this, hates this brittle tension, hates the self awareness, the hyper vigilance. It's like waking up sober and hungover after a binger... the clarity and self loathing are almost as bad as the headache and nausea.

Nathan unscrews the bottle, takes a few long, careful swallows of water, then returns the cap before returning his attention to his own task at hand... the blinking cursor of a blank word document.

He's supposed to be making a flyer for Jefferson, for the up-coming Everyday Hero contest but it's hard for him to concentrate when his nerves are frayed and his leg won't sit still.

He takes another sip of water.

He glances at the bulletin poster laying across the desk as he chews on the inside of his bottom lip.

Maybe he's overthinking this.

It's just a generic flyer, like the ones that end up doodled on or used as artilllery down the halls, or fallen to the floor and trampled on.

He just needs to start with something basic, then he go from there, rework it as many times as need be.

He finishes of the water bottle, sets it down with finality, then sets to work.

He finds it easy to ignore the fragile atmosphere once he looses himself in the work. With his eyes glued to the screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard and the mouse clicking away he can forget that this is a punishment, that there was a fight earlier, that he's here under Jefferson's watch until the man is satisfied with the results. That is until he's on the his third rough draft and he's suddenly aware that the water has already made its way through his system and he doesn't remember opening the second bottle, let alone finishing it, but it's in the trash with its predecessor.

He glances at the clock in the bottom corner of the screen. There's no way he's asking Jefferson to go to the bathroom, not with the class so quiet, not when the students are dying for Nathan to make some kind of noise or movement so they have an excuse to gawk at him.

He decides he can wait the remaining twenty minutes for class to be over.

He finds it harder to focus this time around, especially when the minutes go from twenty, to fifteen, to ten and Nathan finds himself carefully rocking in the chair, project abandoned as he watches in agonizing desperation for the last five minutes to go by. At last Jefferson dismisses the class and Nathan waits for the students to shuffle out into the hall before he stands from the chair with haste and starts a mad dash for the door.

"Just where do you think you're going?"

Nathan freezes and looks over his shoulder at the older man who is regarding him with a scrutinizing expression.

"I- uh.... the bathroom...."

"Sit back down Nathan."

"But I-"

"How naive do you think I am?"

"I-"

"You think because you're here with me and not in denetion that the rules still don't apply to you? You can't just leave when you please, Nathan. You're on /my/ time now."

"But Mark-"

"If I remember correctly, at the beginning of the semester I had to save you because Wells was about to make a phone call to you father, because you thought it'd be a good idea to sneak out of second period for a smoke break in the boys' bathroom."

"But-"

"Sit down!"

Nathan sighs and slumps back to Jefferson's chair. There's no reasoning with him when he gets like this.

The first of the students start to file into the room, and Nathan can feel their eyes on him as they pass. There's no doubt the whole school now knows about his outburst in history.

He stays quiet as the rest of the students come into the class, the atmosphere is different this time, the room is filled with excited chatter, bubbling laughter and curious glances in his direction.

They know he's been placated, kenneled like a dog.

"Alright class, everyone take your seats, you have projects to be working on. Be thinking what your subject will be about and keep in mind the essay that comes with it. Remember- brain storming is the foundation that you build off of."

As soon as he's done speaking, the class erupts in noise again and Nathan allows himself a miserable groan as he moves to cross his legs.

"Did you say something?" Jefferson asks in a warm tone of voice, different than the harsh and quiet tone he had earlier.

"Could you, um, look at these?"

Jefferson browses through the rough drafts and hums thoughtfully.

"Good, good. I assume you're going to put something there to fill in the blank space?"

"Yeah, I was thinking of using clip art or something."

"Clip art? Nathan this is a photography class!"

Nathan frowns, squeezes his thighs together and tries to act interested in the conversation.

"Well I can't exactly go sticking some uncredited artwork in here."

"Don't be silly, you can use mine."

Nathan half nods, he's too busy thinking about toilets than photography.

Jefferson places his hand on Nathan's back.

"They look good, you're doing a good job."

Nathan frowns, he never knows what to do with compliments. Luckily for him, one of the other students call for Jefferson and he walks away. Nathan squeezes his thighs together one last time, then he begins his grand search for a photo to use by browsing through Jefferson's folder...

... and browsing...

... and browsing...

... and browsing...

the photos blur together, with all the shades of black and white and Nathan finds himself spending more time watching the clock then actually looking.

Fuck he has to /pee/.

As carefully and nonchalantly as possible, he lifts the bottom of his shirt and notes the bulge of his swollen bladder pressing against his belt.

He /really/ has to pee.

It's then a thought occurs to him, maybe Jefferson will let him go after he finishes the flyer.

He does a bit more scrolling, selects a picture of one of Jefferson's generic runway model muses and inserts it into the document. He does a bit of realignment with the font, changes the size and style then calls the teacher back over.

"Good, good. You definitely have something to work with here. Now, just make a few more versions of this, play around with it a bit and we'll narrow it down from there."

Nathan sighs.

"Yeah, okay."

"That's... not an issue, is it?" Jefferson asks, regarding the boy with a careful look. Nathan knows that look. It's a warning, daring him to act out of line and see what happens next.

"N-No sir. It's not. Just... a long process."

"Quality art always is."

Nathan watches him walk away before he turns his gaze back to the computer screen.

He's at a loss.

He can't think like this, with his bladder swollen and heavy, his legs restless and trembling, and one thought on his brain, coursing through him as his body pleads: 'release'.

He tries to return to the project, starts by closing out the rough drafts that won't be used, but that's as far as he gets before a contraction hits and Nathan finds himself letting go of the mouse to shove his hands between his thighs. The feeling quickly passes but it leaves Nathan anxious feeling.

There's no way he's gonna make it to the end of class, there's still a little over an hour before the day is over.

He can power through this.

He /needs/ to power through this.

He rocks on the edge of the chair, grinds into his hands a bit then resituates himself to return his hand to the armrest and mouse.

He just has to ignore it. It's his only option.

Except the relief is temporary and his bladder is demanding his attention again.

He moves his hand from the armrest to clutch at the inside of his leg, next thing he knows his thighs are pressed together and he's holding himself through his jeans, his other hand no longer on the glamour and he's greatful the bottom portion of Jefferson's desk is completely blocked off from the class.

"Everything okay over here? You haven't made any more progress..."

"Mark I /really/ have to go." Nathan pleads in a hushed and urgent tone.

"You're staying right here."

"It's an emergency!"

"Nathan. We've already had this conversation. I will not be repeating myself."

"But I-"

"You are an adult. Learn to control it. 'Control' is something you seem to be lacking as of late."

"I can't hold it anymore!" He says, slightly curling into himself as another contraction hits.

"I promised to keep you out of trouble Nathan, not to keep your pants dry."

"This is so unfair!" Nathan grinds out between clenched teeth. The line never works on his father, and he knows it won't work on Jefferson either but it's his last attempt, to let them know he's not happy about succumbing to their will.

"I don't make the rules, Nathan, I just enforce them. And you wouldn't be here in this predicament if you didn't continue to ignore the rules."

"What am I supposed to do?" He asks meekly, suddenly feeling exhausted and defeated.

"I don't care what you do, so long as you don't disturb my class."

Nathan groans in frustration, watches the clock in agony as the seconds pass like molasses.

He breathes through another contraction, but this time he leaks and he makes up his mind.

It's not like he's gonna get into more trouble, right? Jefferson's already punishing him, what's he gonna do? Have Nathan make another flyer for the upcoming science fair? Nathan will gladly take whatever work Jefferson throws at him if it means getting relief, and getting it /now/.

Jefferson's in the middle of the classroom, bent down and engaged in a conversation with one his students.

Good, Nathan thinks, he's just far enough away for Nathan to get a head start. As long as he's out of arm's reach he knows Jefferson won't chase him down the hall.

Without a second thought, Nathan makes a mad dash to the door, but no sooner does he step out into the hall a contraction hits, and Nathan finds himself doubling over as he falls into his knees. As soon as he hits the tile floor, a wet warm explodes between his thighs and quickly spreads. It's only once he hears the muffled hiss of water being forcibly expelled that he realizes he's wetting himself. As this thought occurs to him, the quickly forming puddle below him begins to grow beyond his crouch and expands from between his knees.

"Oh my god." Dana says, who'd slowed her pace when she'd seen Nathan acting strangely in the hall. "Oh my god. Nathan, are you peeing yourself?" She asks as she puts a hand over her mouth in a feeble attempt to hide her humor, thought her words verge on the age of laughter.

A few of the other students in the hall cautiously and curiously approach before laughter and jeers erupt.

Feeling his face grow warm as the piss gushing between his thighs, Nathan tries his best to stop the flow but he's too far gone, his body caught up in the euphoria of relief. So he gives in with defeat and allows his bladder to empty with quiet shame.

"Now, Nathan," Jefferson says from where he's watched the scene unfold, leaned against the doorway of his classroom while his cursious students peer around him, "didn't I warn you about control?"

Nathan can feel the tears stinging his eyes.

He should've never drank that water.


	5. Pricescott

 Nathan twists the doorknob, only to find that it's locked. With a sigh, he knocks on the door.

 "Chloe?"

 "Yeah?"

 "You almost done?"

 A pause.

 "I thinks it's gonna be a while." Chloe replies, voice muffled.

 Nathan squirms and he gives a frustrated glare at the closed door.

 "Well hurry up." He says grumpily.

 "I'll try my best."

 Nathan rolls his eyes. He has a real love-hate relationship with her sarcasm.

 With nothing else to do other than wait, Nathan returns to the couch and falls back into it with more force than necessary and his aching bladder protests against the sudden joust. He places his hand between his thighs and slowly grinds against his wrist.

 He knows better than to smoke. He knows weed agitates his dissociation, that it makes him feel numb and untethered, that he forgets his soul occupies a flesh sack. But Chloe had a rough day at Two Whales. The assholes came out of the woodwork today, apparently. Somewhere along the way an order supposedly came out wrong, and Chloe had gotten chewed out by the customer, and later her Mom for not being diligent in the first place.

 So of course Nathan decided to light one up.

 It's just that Chloe also bought beer on her way home.

 And Nathan's never been good at keeping track of how much alcohol he consumes in social settings, especially when talking.

 Chloe had gone into the bathroom twenty minutes ago, and Nathan finished off the last beer. It was when he stood up to throw away his trash when it hit him, all at once. So now he's here, drunk and high  with his hand between his legs as he waits impatiently for his girlfriend to get off the toilet.

_Toilet._

 His bladder lets out another sharp protest and he stands with an agitated groan, unsure how much longer he can hold it and thinking maybe he'd have a better chance if he wasn't feeling so sluggish.

 "Chloe?" Nathan asks, knocking more frantically this time.

 "What Nathan?"

 "How much longer?"

 He can hear her sigh even through the door.

 "I don't know Nathan."

 Just then, a contraction hits. Nathan quickly crosses his legs and grabs his cock through his jeans.

 "Chloe!" He yells, mostly startled from nearly peeing himself.

 "You're not helping!" She yells back just as aggressively.

 The contraction passes and Nathan takes a deep, slow breath.

 Okay.

 He can do this. He just has to wait. All he needs to do is occupy himself, and Chloe will be out before he knows it. He begins pacing around the apartment. He keeps his eyes off any clocks and tries to keep his mind from drifting to the tight, knotted feeling in his lower abdomen. It works, for most part, save for the fact it feels his bladder is about to burst like a water balloon and he's overly aware of how tight his belt is.

 Okay. He can do this. Just a few more minutes. Try a new tactic.

 He walks over to the table where he sees their latest batch of mail. Mildly curious, he picks the envelopes up and peruses through their bills: cable and Internet are due in a week, rent is due at the end of the month, electricity and water are due-

_Water._

 He's not entirely sure how he makes it to the bathroom doorway, but finds he doesn't really care as he jiggles the doorknob to no avail and bounces frantically from foot to foot.

 "Chloooooooeeee." It's a desperate plea this time, a beg for mercy.

 "Just a little longer Nate." A bargain. One he's not sure he can make.

 He can wait this out, right? Maybe not with dignity. But he's going to wait here god dammit. Even if Chloe has to open the door to him doing a potty dance with tears in his eyes while he holds himself through his jeans like some kind of child. But as the minutes pass, it becomes less of a dance and more like a contortionist performance. One hand has a shaky, white knuckles grip on the corner of the door frame while his other hand is in a tightly balled fist placed firmly between his thighs. He has one leg crossed over the other as he continues his little bounce nearly completely doubled over. As another contraction hits and causes him to dribble, Nathan accepts the fact that he simply just can't wait any longer. The thought alone nearly makes Nathan loose control there, but the thought of Chloe never letting him live down peeing his pants makes him fight back, but he knows he doesn't have much longer.

 Frantically, he looks around their apartment and while trying to think of what most people do in these types of situations.

 His first thought is the sink, but it's piled up with dishes that both refuse to do. He's certain Chloe would kill him for peeing in their dishes, even though they're obviously not in use. His second thought is the garbage can, but it's full and nearly overflowing with trash that probably should've been taken out two days ago. Besides, if he pees in it, then Chloe will make him take it out and he hates taking the trash out almost as much as he hates doing the dishes. His gaze sweeps the apartment, and he notes their dirty laundry haphazardly strewn across living room, jackets and sweaters mostly, because it's conveniently just inside the door unlike their closet. He wonders if could he could place one of the articles of clothing between his thighs then relive himself- he could easily though everything into he wash afterwards. The question is, would one piece of clothing work? Would it depend on the material? Can he even manage to walk around and collect the laundry off the floor in this state?

 His mind goes back to the trash. There has to be a disposable cup or takeout box or something he could use without having to piss all over the garbage itself. But he runs across the same problem- it's on the other side of the apartment and he doesn't think he can manage to make it over there. He groans as he wedges his fist further between his thighs. If only there were some kind of container for him to pee in! His eyes go to the cabinets.

 The Tupperware.

 He has no other choice. Not unless he wants to piss his pants curled up on the floor in front of the bathroom.

 With nothing left to loose, Nathan wraps his hand firmly around his cock in a futile attempt to keep the flood at bay. Slowly he tries to straighten up, but he can hardly feel his legs, everything feels like it's being pulled tight into the effort of holding all the beer he shouldn't have consumed so thoughtlessly. He stumbles into the kitchen and leans heavily against the counter- his bladder feels like it's made of lead, heavy and bulging and ready to explode. He ties open the cupboard and his free hand quivers as he blindly feels around for what he's searching for and he finds himself wondering how their apartment got so messy in the first place. Soon he finds what he's looking for: a large Tupperware container, part of a set as a gift from Joyce last Christmas. Every year she gets them kitchenware or a cooking appliance, and every year they gush over it and talk about all the cool things they plan in doing with it before it's shoved into the cupboard and where it stays.

 He places the plastic container on the floor before him, there's a sudden wet warmth between his thighs as his body leaks in anticipation of the relief that's about to come. Nathan panics, he didn't make it this far just to wet himself anyways. There's just one problem, he can't seem to get his belt undone. His shaky hands keep fumbling with the latch, and his thighs are trembling, and needs both hands to undo his belt and he can feel himself leaking, his body unable to hold on anymore. Nathan decides to abandon his belt and simply unzips the fly of his pants before pulling dick out through the slit of his underwear and jeans. In mid-leak, he dribbles down the from of his pants and on the floor, and he barely has time to aim before his tightly contacted muscles give in and finally release. Nathan feels his entire body freeze, it's like suspension in a free fall or the shock before all the feelings and emotions can set in. Then, the feeling of relief rushes while the tension fades as he empties his bladder into the plastic contain. He sighs with deep contentment. He rocks on his feet, it feels like his legs want to give out and he's not sure if it's from relief or the alcohol.

 "Nathan?" Chloe asks as she steps out of the bathroom.

 Of course. _Of course_.

 Slowly she circles around him with her arms crossed over her chest and a smug smile of amusement in her face.

 "You know, if you'd told me you had to pee, I totally would've let you in."

 Nathan opens his mouth to protest but a small he runs back through the events he realizes that maybe he never actually told Chloe why he needed her to open the door so badly.

 "What else could I have meant?" He asks, feeling sheepish and a need to defend himself. Now that he's not driven by a desperate haze to reliever himself, he's starting to feel silly.

 "I dunno? You get kinda needy when you're drunk."

 To this he has no response, so he keeps his eyes where he's aiming at the container so he won't have to meet her gaze.

 Chloe continues to watch and she bites down on her bottom lip, but it does little to keep back her giggle.

 "What?" Nathan asks, feeling his face grow warm.

 "Nothing, nothing." She says, though she giggles again. "It's just that, you know, walking into the kitchen to see your boyfriend pissing into plastic ware isn't really something you ever think you'd experience in life, but here we are."

 Nathan finds himself smiling when she giggles again and okay, if it were him walking into the kitchen to find Chloe squatting and taking a piss, he'd find it pretty shocking and amusing too.

 "You know what else? Mom would be happy to know one of her gifts have finally been put to use."

 "That's not true. We used the mixing bowl once." Nathan says as his stream starts to die down.

 "Yeah, to make pot brownies!" Chloe says laughing. Her mother would kill her if she knew.

 "Still counts." Nathan says he shakes himself off.

 Chloe waits for him to readjust himself before she closes the space between them. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, threads her fingers of one hand through his hair and gives him a soft, gentle kiss.

 "Thanks for cheering me up Nathan."

 He wraps his arms around her waist and returns the kiss.

 "Anytime."

 She sighs as she looks around the apartment.

 "We should probably clean this place up, huh?"

 "Yeah, probably."

 "One condition... I'm not touching your piss bucket."

 "Fair enough."


End file.
